Captain Freeman Inn in Brewster, MA. A favorite spot on Cape Cod. My husband Jon and I look forward to staying there while visiting family and friends in a neighboring beach town.
The green and red exterior works harmoniously together. Described on their site as a sea captain’s mansion. A front porch that surrounds. Burgundy red rocking chairs set out in an easy line.
Wide granite stairs cut though flowering gardens leading to the center front door. A grand antique wooden door with a proper large metal handle. I pushed down on the top latch to gain entrance. I walked over the threshold and into a welcome respite from the unrelenting world I find swirling in my thoughts nearly constantly.
The interior greeted me in cool tones. High ceilings, drapes and wall colors descriptively rich and deep. Unique lighting carefully chosen offering points of interest in corners and hanging from the painted ceiling above. A calming yet familiar scent filled my senses as I relaxed into the moment. This was only visit number 4 or 5 but it felt familiar and comfortable. Welcomed we were…
Highbacked blue velvet and neutral patterned cloth chairs cozily arranged in a sitting room just off the entrance. Fireplaces seasonally adorned. Rugs vibrant with contemporary patterns.
Something new this visits the innkeeper mentioned to us. She pointed toward a freestanding metal multi shelved display of flowers. Glass bud vases arranged on a lower shelf in varying heights and etched patterns. A full pitcher of water conveniently ready for any quest who chooses to collect a small bouquet for their sanctuary. Individual posies of soft and bold colors just waiting to be arranged. I chose a taller bud vase just 4 inches high. Quickly I arranged my bouquet as I already had decided on the assortment of colors I wanted.
Placed on the tv credenza in our room where the afternoon light created a wonderful shadow off the sage green wall. Rich warm woodwork. A small fireplace. A retro beige mini fridge. The bed with white crisp linens and soft cotton blankets. Accents of blue pillows and patterned chairs. Lovely…
We sank into the evening and went out to dinner at The Island Blue Crab restaurant. We sat across from one another as we recounted our day of travel over drinks. I mentioned our son’s upcoming March birthday while sharing a few thoughts on gifts. My emotions running high as I recognized the quickly approaching March 15th marked the anniversary of my mom’s passing. Just over a week away. My eyes filled as they often do when remembering her despite the many years that have passed. Jon and I talked about how we would love to have one of her homemade meals again. A pasta dish. Her sauce was so light and flavorful. Special she was and so greatly missed. To go back even for a moment. An afternoon to hear her voice, her laugh and to feel my mother’s love once again. Under such stressful and threatening political times it felt quite normal to want and wish for the comfort of one’s mother.
I think a lot these days of aging and imagine wanting to go back. No regrets per say though there are some of those certainly but mostly to visit those I have loved and lost. Revisiting different times too. My childhood of the 60’s the 70s and the freedoms I understood. Horseback riding through my rural neighborhood. Playing sandlot ball with the neighborhood boys. Scrappy and determined even back then. Rock n’ roll that was filled with words of protest. Conversations about “the man,” racial injustices, and inequality. We were impatient for change, and we were certain we could make it happen. Impatient I am again…
We segued into discussing the troubles that were truly weighing us down. The Oval Office bullies on display while the world watched in horror. Horrified I was too. The lies and propaganda spue without conscious or consequences. Boggles the mind. The world order seismically shifted. How do we right this ship? I asked. I continued eating just enough dinner to address the gnaw I had felt for the past many hours but not a bite more…
Breakfast at the Inn is a main attraction. Sweet one day and savory the next. A few delicious courses. Coffee and juice first. Naturally. A blackberry scone with lemon curd. Waffles with a raspberry compote. Egg frittata. Mixed berries. Pleasant and friendly chatter between guests and our host. Strangers becoming less so…
After breakfast on Sunday, we headed back upstairs to our room to collect the remaining items. As we reluctantly left our temporary oasis, we headed back toward the stairs stopping to chat with another couple that we had seen at breakfast each morning. Time together at the top of the stairs. A couple from Connecticut
We shared our words. Talked of our worlds. Where home was. Adult children. Grandchildren. The places we had lived the places we traveled. Just moments. Sweet moments. We had more in common than not…
We finished packing up the car and decided to walk to the local beach. 50 degrees warmed to an unusual measure as temps back in Vermont were hovering around 4 degrees. I tilted my face toward the sun to soak in the strong March rays. Cobalt blue sky. Not nearly a cloud just an occasional wisp of white. The wind, manageable. High tide. The gulls lined up on the rocks and boulders. Huddled low.
The beach lined with dunes and dancing pale ochre grasses. Wooden slatted fences snaked parallel at the base of the fragile sands. Houses clustered not crowded. The scene right out of an Edward Hopper painting. I imagined how I would address the light illuminating off the natural gray shingled homes once I was back in my studio. Clean and crisp with weathered clapboards.
Bay side of the Cape boasts lapping waves. We walked along parchment-colored sands as I paused frequently to photograph the seascape before me. I stopped often to look out as far as my vision would allow. The horizon felt both hopeful and overwhelming. I stood quietly at the ocean’s edge and let the certain repetition of the gentle waves ease my mind. A meditative effect I welcomed. A sound so recognizably soothing…
“The heart of man is very much like the sea, it has its storms, it has its tides, and, in its depths, it has its pearls too.”
— Vincent van Gogh
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